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LONG    LANCE

bath-tubtrees around half torn off by shell fire
bark which Almighty Voice had eaten still
missing from some of the trunksa short under-
growth starting to grow inside the holeand the
famous tree., still uttering its mute sentence:
'Here have died three braves.3

None of us hardly spoke; we just went around '
from place to place, examining this and that, and
thinking.

It was a beautiful, bright north-western summer
day. Under its peaceful quietness., broken only
by the occasional short, gruff cough of a wolf-
dog somewhere in the distance, it was hard for us
to realize that this fine3 picturesque stretch of
bush and prairieland once echoed the thunder of
the North-West Rebellion and the cannon which
wiped out Almighty Voice.

I stood at the pit and gazed thoughtfully across
the broad stretch of lowland at the rising hill be-
yond, where the field guns were put in position.
Then I turned in the opposite direction and
looked up the abrupt west slope of the rise on
which the bluff is situated. I could see the spot
about a hundred yards above, where the old
mother stood shouting and singing to her son
during the four long days and nights of the siege.

This reminded me to look toward this wonder-
ful old woman., to see how she was reacting to her
first visit to the scene since she was carried away

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